


The Continuing Saga of Space Keith

by IntelligentAirhead



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Autistic Character, Character Study, Characters will be tagged as they appear which is why it looks a little barebones right now, Gen, Hyperfocus followed by understimulation is Hell and i would not recommend it, Keith and Hunk are friends, Lance wants to be a good big sibling even in space, M/M, Namely Keith, Pidge is everyone's younger sibling, She/her/hers pronouns for Pidge, Space family, Trans Characters, ensemble fic, the answer is all of them, which ones you may ask
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7696060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntelligentAirhead/pseuds/IntelligentAirhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith is perfectly happy being left to his own devices, except for when he's not. </p><p>Alternatively: Space Family Bonding is a mandatory teambuilding exercise, and Keith might not actually be opposed to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Gift Me a Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter was "Keith + Lance 'Why are we whispering'"

Training always left Keith disoriented, even months after settling into the castle. The training itself was fine-- better than fine. He actually felt focussed when he was fighting; everything was a sequence of action and reaction, striking and countering, back and forth. It was a familiar language, built on instinct, training, and muscle memory. The problem lay in coming back down.

Keith’s hands felt as empty as the featureless hallways of the ship, unnerving and blank and missing something nameless. The hallways were almost always the worst part, post-workout. There was nothing to focus on. No colour, no texture. Keith’s eyes would flick from one wall to another, searching, but there was nothing to hold his gaze.

Keith squeezed his hands into fists, then released them. Squeeze. Release. Squeeze. Release. Squ— What.

Something had flickered in Keith’s periphery. He was sure of it. 

Everything came into focus at once, his gaze narrowing on a single point. He slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew his bayard, then began to close the distance between him and… whatever it was. Maybe it was the gladiator gone rogue again. If so, then fuck. 

His grip tightened on the bayard, then loosened. He couldn’t afford to get white knuckled if it actually was something serious, rather than Rover flitting about, or one of Pidge’s experiments, or Lance being who he was as a person.

Keith had almost reached the suspicious area, a room that for all intents and purposes should have been sealed tight, when the door swooshed open. Keith activated his bayard instinctively.

“Whoa!” Lance yelled, then winced. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” He repeated, but this time with the volume and intensity of someone told to whisper right after avoiding an explosion, but not completely escaping the blast radius. “Put that away! Jesus. Can you chill for even like one second of your life, dude?”

Keith rolled his eyes, but stowed away his bayard. “I saw suspicious activity. Pardon me for not forgetting how the castle, you know, tried to kill us all.”

Lance winced. “Okay,” he started, then frowned and cleared his throat. “Okay, fair,” he whispered, “I’m still not a huge fan of locked doors either. Or closets. Small, lockable places are a no-go. Lance is an open kind’a guy.” He wrinkled his nose. “Lance is going to stop talking in third person because it sounds bad.”

“At least you realised that all by yourself.”

“You,” Lance said, then appeared to realise his volume control was off again, “ _ you  _ have been spending too much time with Pidge. Leaking sarcasm all over the place. It’s bad for the environment.”

“We’re in space.”

“That’s aside from the point. Also, keep your voice down, will you?”

“Why?” Keith asked.

“Space can be polluted just like anything else, and sarcasm is bad for stress, which is bad for your skin. By which I mean—”

Keith interrupted. “I meant: why are we whispering?”

Lance sucked in his cheeks, then released a drawn out breath, making him look a little bit like a pufferfish. “What are you getting Pidge for her birthday?” 

“Uh.” Keith stared at him blankly. Of all the things Lance could have said, that was not what he was expecting. “She said not to get her anything.”

Lance’s dismayed gasp would have put all of the Garrison’s instructors to shame. “Uh, no, she did not say that. I know she didn’t because what she actually said was horrifying enough to forever be burnt into my memory. She said, ‘I don’t want to make a big deal about my birthday,’ which is blasphemy, but whatever. I’m trying out this new thing called understanding boundaries.”

Keith translated that to mean that either Shiro made Lance give back Pidge’s headphones, or Pidge sought direct vengeance. He was betting on the latter. “Then don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“I’m  _ trying _ ,” Lance groaned. “But I feel like everyone’s gonna get Pidge robot shit, and I don’t know what kind of stuff is, like, giftable, or if people are gonna double up, and apparently you weren’t going to do  _ anything. _ ” Lance shot Keith a betrayed look.

Keith screwed up his face, baffled. “Why do you care?” He asked, then immediately regretted the way it came out. “I mean,” he amended before Lance could take offence (hopefully), “Why does this matter so much to you?”

Lance huffed. “I’ve never missed out on any of my siblings’ birthdays, and I’m not gonna start now. Especially not when Pidge is turning fifteen. In space! She’s turning fifteen without her family in  _ space _ , Keith.” 

Nothing made sense, and Keith was afraid it never had or never would again. “Pidge is your sibling?”

Lance covered his face with his hands so quickly that it made a soft slapping noise. “Uh, well, no. I mean, like, space siblings? Like, we’re practically a space family. Shiro the space dad, Pidge the space kid. Keith, the space Keith.”

Uh. “Space Keith.”

“Yeah, you know.” Lance waved his hand, his voice getting louder and more frantic as he continued. “Space Keith. The space version of that one dude who you take to the family reunion because you want to stop being asked about how your romantic situation’s going, but it backfires because for some reason your family misreads the ‘bad boy’ vibes and adopts your designated Keith like an irritable stray cat, and next thing you know they’re adding more pressure, and three years down the road you’re married, and you want to know how it all ended up like this, and it’s Keith’s fault.”

Keith blinked slowly, trying to process the deluge of words he was just buffeted with. “I’m… married to Keith?”

“You sure are, buddy. Space Keith and Keith, together at last. Yes. That is the point I was making. Please shut me up and just tell me what you would hypothetically be giving Pidge if you were to get her a gift.”

“Uh.” Keith bit the inside of his cheek. “Well, I mean, I never really did much for birthdays, so I understood where she was coming from with that. Or, well, not.” They actually had polar opposite reasons, now that Keith thought about it. Pidge didn’t want to celebrate without her family; Keith had never had one to celebrate with. Fucked up either way, he guessed.

“Dude. Dude, do we need to have a birthday intervention for everyone on this ship?” Lance gasped, then clapped his open palm to his heart. “Allura and Coran probably don’t know about birthdays, either! This is a tragedy. An affront to every sensibility I have  _ ever _ had, Keith.”

“A soldering iron. I was going to replace Pidge’s soldering iron because it’s wearing out,” Keith admitted. Hopefully Lance would take the redirection as bait, and— 

“You liar! You said you weren’t getting her a gift!” Hook, line, and sinker.

“It wasn’t going to be a birthday gift. It was just a necessary replacement,” Keith said. 

“I can’t believe this!” Lance yelled. “Why are you like this?” 

Keith shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the expert on space Keiths, apparently. You tell me.”

Lance gaped at him. “You— I— Ugh!” He opened and shut his mouth a few more times, then started charging away. “This isn’t over! I’m going to get Pidge the best birthday present she’s ever had, and it’ll make your soldering iron look like crap!”

“It’s not a competition,” Keith yelled after him, then added, “and if it was, I’d still win!”

“Yeah, right!” Lance yelled back. “I’m the birthday king! I’m not going to lose to—” He might have tacked on some insults, but he was too far away at that point for Keith to hear him clearly.

Keith shook his head, then returned back to walking to his quarters. For some reason, he was feeling a lot better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a one-shot, but then my friend and sometimes co-author suggested the possibility of several chapters exploring Keith's interactions with his newfound space family, to which I replied, "god damn it, Stella, why must you play on my weaknesses like this." 
> 
> That said, I'll probably add character tags as I go.


	2. Keep Soldering On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday is an annual event celebrating that an individual has survived yet another circuit around the sun, unless that individual happens to be inhabiting a giant castle-ship that's whizzing through space. Adjustments must be made, context is important, and situational nuance is everything.

The soldering iron made a soft ca-clunk when Keith set it it on Pidge’s desk. 

Pidge, who had been fixated on something that looked vaguely like a circuit board (if bigger and more prone to making ominous crackling noises) looked up at the sound. She blinked slowly at Keith, her head cocked to the side, more like an owl than her namesake would suggest. Then, she looked at the soldering iron. Then, back to Keith. “What?”

“It’s a soldering iron,” Keith supplied.

Pidge closed her eyes, then swivelled the chair to face him and took off her headphones, placing them on the desk. “I’m aware,” she said. “Sorry, I should have clarified. Let me try again.” She cleared her throat, then flung her hand out. “Oh! A soldering iron! What could this possibly be for?” She clasped her open palm to her chest, then gasped dramatically. “Could it be a gift, on this, a day of absolutely no significance whatsoever?”

Keith bit the inside of his cheek. “Look, if you don’t want it, then—”

“Nope. Of course I want it; it’s a soldering iron.”

Keith gaped at her. “Then! Why was that necessary?”

“It’s the principle of the thing.” Pidge hummed. “Besides, I needed a moment to come to terms with you and Lance teaming up on _ anything _ , much less gift giving.”

“Wha— we— no?” Keith fumbled with his words, his face scrunching up in confusion. Then, all at once, everything clicked. Goddamn it, Lance. 

Pidge jerked her head towards a reel of solder near the corner of her workspace. It looked new.  “I concluded that he’d had help, considering who Lance is as a person; however, I’d thought that Hunk had been the mastermind, since they're the only one here that actually  _ gets _ tech. Aside from Allura and Coran, anyway. We might have different specialties, but they know what they’re doing.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong. It’d be much easier for Lance to get advice from Hunk than from the Alteans, and it wouldn’t take much effort for Hunk to figure out what kind of solder Pidge needed, but also…

“I can do tech stuff too.” That came out way more childish than Keith meant it too. Goddamn it. 

“Keith, please. You’re a  _ pilot.” _

Keith bristled. “You were at the Garrison! You know that all pilots have to go through basic mechanics training! I spent like a year teaching myself how to rig up explosives without blowing myself up.” He’d serviced his speeder all by himself! In the desert! With sand everywhere! That had to count for something.

“Alright, hotshot, settle down.” Pidge sighed. “I’ll concede. You do good maintenance work, and  _ concerningly _ good demolitions work. Still, if something vital is fried, and it’s between you and Hunk to fix it, I’m picking Hunk.”

Which, fair, but still. It stung a little bit. Unjustifiably. They all had their strengths and weaknesses, and Keith needed to get the hell over it. He’d work through it in training, probably. 

“So, did you guys agree to split the birthday gift? I wouldn’t think Lance would go for that,” Pidge said.

“It’s not a birthday gift,” Keith answered automatically. “You said you didn’t want your birthday to be a big deal, so it’s not. It’s just a thing that I’m giving to you because you could use it better than I could.”

“Because you’re a pilot?”

“Hey.”

Pidge laughed. “Don’t worry about it. I really don’t mind the presents that much. Besides, Lance has been surprisingly restrained about the whole thing.” She shrugged. “I’m guessing I can chalk that up to you.”

“False, actually. Lance did that all by himself.” He was learning. Slowly. But he was learning. Which reminded Keith.

He pointed at her headphones, still lying on the desk. “Those might have something to do with it. Whatever you did to get them back must have been... something. Lance usually doesn’t bother to figure out where the line is before trying to see how far he can get over it; most of the time, he just starts running.”

Pidge laughed. “Oh, that. No, I just waited until Shiro was already getting onto him about boundaries. Then, I just mentioned that he’d taken my headphones.” She tapped them with her index finger. “That was enough for Shiro to bring out the ‘I’m disappointed in you,’ and the ‘you’re better than this,’ apparently.”

Keith winced. “Harsh.”

“But effective.” Pidge shrugged. “There are some tactics you only pick up when you have siblings.” All at once, her face settled into something more neutral. More distant.

“Pidge, are you—”

“Sorry, but I really need to work on this,” she said, gesturing at the circuit board thing. “Thanks for the soldering iron. You can go.”

Keith opened his mouth, ready to say something. He wasn’t sure what.

“Listen, Keith,” Pidge said, turning back to her work. “We’re both not good with words. They come out, and it’s hard to take them back. And no offence, but the kind of conversation you want to have right now isn’t really something either of us is equipped to deal with. We’re at two ends of a magnet. The things I’d like to hear would probably have the reverse effect on you.”

“Fucked up either way,” Keith said,an  echo of his thoughts from before this all started, when the only problem had been Lance asking for ideas.

Pidge snorted, but it sounded more bitter than amused. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

There was a beat of silence. 

Keith knew the invitation to leave had been more of an order. It wasn’t well disguised. He knew that he should just leave and go fight the gladiator for the umpteenth time. He also knew that he was going to hate himself in five minutes because he was an impulsive asshole who had no concept of ignoring his instincts.

“I get it, though,” he said. “I get not wanting to make a big deal out of your birthday because the people you want to make a big deal out of it aren’t there. Anything less than what you really need is just gonna make you feel like shit, so. I get it.” He huffed. “So, yeah. I just wanted you to know that. I get it.”

Pidge was silent for a bit. It made Keith anxious as shit. Finally, she said something. “I get it,” she said, then barked out a solitary laugh. “Now I’m echoing you. Hell.” 

“Yeah. I just… Wanted you to know,” Keith said. “Anyway, yeah.” He started moving towards the door. 

“Hang on,” Pidge said. Keith stopped in his tracks. 

“Thanks,” she said.

“Yeah,” Keith answered. “No problem.”

Then he stepped out into the hallway, took a deep breath, and started heading to the training room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm incapable of writing anything without Massive Mood whiplash 
> 
> sorry about that
> 
> See you next time on Space Keith's Adventures in Forming and Maintaining Interpersonal Bonds


	3. If You Can't Take The Heat, Fix The Atmospheric Control in The Food Preparation Area

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a deal is struck

Keith didn’t suck at engineering. He didn’t. He _could_ admit when he wasn’t great at something, despite what certain other paladins might think. After all, admitting to an unimpressive skill level was the first step to moving past that stage of development and never having to deal with it again.

The second step was figuring out how to utilize all available resources and actually, well, improve. Which meant asking for help. So, basically, fuck.

All said and done, Keith’s options were limited. Pidge was bad at teaching, and Coran would get distracted and start talking about things that had nothing to do with what Keith wanted to know. Keith could have asked Allura, but he knew from experience that he didn’t do well with her style of training regimen. At all.

So, that left Hunk. Who, if Keith was being honest, was his first choice anyway. They were easy to be around, and eager enough to talk about engineering that Keith probably wouldn’t even have to ask. Hopefully.

It was probably good luck, then, that Keith ran into Hunk when trying to grab a pack of water. Probably. Definitely. It was definitely good luck. Yes.  

“Engineering!” Keith blurted out, just as Hunk said, “Oh! Keith, great.”

They stared at each other.

“What I meant to say—”

“Sorry, what were you—”

They both stopped, then, seeing his chance, Keith barrelled ahead. “Sorry, uh, what?”

“Uh, no, I started the you talk first with my sorry, so you talk first.” Hunk turned away from Keith, and towards a pot that Keith hadn’t noticed before. “Those are the rules. Courtesy tango has a set pattern.”

“Courtesy… tango?”

Hunk sighed. “Just go ahead and ask what you wanted to ask before we’re trapped in a never ending loop of ‘no, you go first,’ until Zarkon jumps through a window and tries to wear our lungs as scarves.”

“O...kay?” Keith said, grimacing at the image. “Uh. So I’m not the best at engineering.”

Hunk snorted. “Yeah, no. I know that.”

“Hey!”

“Listen, you said it, not me.”

Keith crossed his arms. “ _Anyway_ ,” he continued, “I wanted to, y’know, fix that. So, if you could teach me a few things, I’d— Look, I’d appreciate it.”

Hunk looked at him for a second. “Sure thing,” they said.

Keith unfolded his arms. “Really? Thank—”

“On one condition,” Hunk interrupted. “Taste this for me.” They gestured at the pot. “There’s like nothing, and I mean nothing, in here to cleanse my palate.”

Keith blinked at them, then snorted. “Goo’s just not cutting it, huh?”

Hunk shuddered. “Yeah, no. Goo haunts my nightmares at this point, and ever since we had to deal with the nightmare crystal, I feel like it might, like, try to take over my body from the inside.”

“That’s terrifying,” Keith said, flatly.

“Isn’t it? I never wanted to count food among my enemies, but hey, it’s a thing that’s happened. Space is weird. It’s weird.” Hunk shook their head and sighed, then handed Keith a spoon.

Keith took a sip of whatever was in the pot, then drew back in surprise. “It’s sour,” Keith said, bewildered,

“Oh, yeah! Forgot to warn you. Sorry about that.” Hunk rubbed the back of their head sheepishly. “I’m trying to make Sinigang, but it’s not that easy when you’re in space. Not exactly a ton of tamarind floating around. Or even, like, guava. I think it’s getting there, though.”

“Wait, so it’s supposed to be sour?”

“Yeah! I’m pretty proud of how close I’m getting when we’re literally hurtling through the void, honestly. Even if it is, y’know, taking forever to figure out.” Hunk frowned, looking down at the pot as if it had insulted them.

Huh. “Why do you care so much about food?” That didn’t come out right. Goddamn it.

Hunk blinked at him. “Well, it brings everyone together, you know? It’s something you share with people. Food that I loved when I was little is different from food you loved, and if we share it with each other, we know each other a little bit better.” They shrugged. “Plus, I guess it just feels nice to be able to do something like this for people, you know? Shows you care about them.”

“Oh,” Keith said, unable to think of anything better to say.

“Speaking of caring for people,” Hunk started, and Keith felt a wash of apprehension.

Hunk levelled their gaze at Keith, and Keith carefully looked away. Hunk sighed. “I know it sucks, and I know Shiro’s already gotten onto you for this, and I know that you know that I hate being the voice of reason, always, but can you please give your poor ribs a break? Binders plus training equals bad times. I know; I’ve been there.”

Keith scrunched up his face, and Hunk groaned.

“Oh no you don’t, buddy. Don’t make me feel like the bad guy because I want you to take care of yourself.”

Keith fought the urge to ask what Hunk would do if he didn’t _want_ to take care of himself. Knowing Hunk, they’d blow it out of proportion and want to talk about feelings, which, no. Especially when the feelings didn’t exist.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Keith,” Hunk groaned.

“I’ll think about it!”

“Between you and Lance I might literally die from stress. You, Lance, and the fate of the universe, I guess. I have a lot on my plate.” Hunk sighed. “How am I not dead yet?”

Keith considered Hunk, his forehead wrinkling. “You… don’t do well with stress.”

“Uh, no, I’m not really a big fan of going out and looking for ways to expedite my own death, no,” Hunk said.

“But you joined the Garrison?” Keith had no idea how to say what he was trying to say. “I noticed that you didn’t exactly like flying at first.” It was hard to miss. “Why would you enlist if you didn’t want to go up?”

Hunk cocked their head to the side, considering. “Well, I mean, there were a few factors? I’ve been friends with Lance since we were seven— remind me to show you baby photos if we ever get back to earth because I was adorable, and he was a human disaster— and so I’m not really sure what we’d do without being there for each other. I mean, we’d survive, but it’s one of those things where, hey, we don’t have to go down that road, so why bother, right? Like, there’s a lonely road with a bunch of trees that look way too much like creepy bendy people, and yeah you could go down that road, and sure you’d make it out okay, but if you have the option to bring a friend along, why wouldn’t you? So there’s that.” Hunk took a breath.

Keith stared at them. Sometimes it was hard to believe anyone could think of that many words in so little time, but Hunk managed it. Consistently.

“But another thing is that, well, you know the Garrison basically pays for your education when you enlist, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith answered. It had been one of the things that had first appealed to him about it.

“Yeah, so that was a thing. My family has enough to get by and everything, but sometimes it gets tight, y’know? And anything helps, really, so it seemed like the best option at the time. Besides, I always figured that I could request being stationed at a docking station, down on solid ground where the earth is nice and loves me. Instead of, well, floating in space forever and coating everything I touch in a thick, shiny layer of vomit for the rest of my life.”

Hunk was a big fan of supplying detailed imagery. Sometimes it came in handy. Sometimes it made Keith think about vomit in excruciating detail. “Hunk, can we not talk about vomit.”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, sorry,” Hunk said. “You know how it is. Everyone knows about throw up. No need for exposition about stomach acid.” At Keith’s expression, they winced. “Right. Enough about the vomit. Got it.”

“So, yeah. Lance was pretty sure he was gonna be the best pilot, like, ever, and I’d always liked taking things apart and putting them back together. I was thinking about being either a geotechnical or a civil engineer, maybe, but I found out that that’s less about fixing things I want to fix, and more about memorizing the difference between concrete and cement. Plus university’s expensive, and grad degrees are even worse, so when Lance started talking about the Garrison, I sat down with my parents and we talked about maybe me becoming a military engineer instead.”

Hunk smiled at Keith, then frowned. They sighed.

“This,” they said, gesturing towards the pot, “doesn’t really smell right. I don’t know what it’s missing, but…” Hunk trailed off. They shook their head. “Whatever. We’re sitting in a magic flying space castle-ship, not in my kitchen. It’s never going to be exactly right.” They took in a deep breath. “We just have to do the best we can with what we have, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out. He really hoped this wasn’t awkward. Hunk liked pats on the back, right? Probably. Fuck.

“If it, uh, helps? I think you’re doing a pretty good job so far.”

To Keith’s absolute horror, Hunk started tearing up. Okay, so he’d fucked up incredibly.

Then Hunk was hugging him, and Keith’s shoulder was being sniffled into.

Keith stared into the distance, frozen stiff. Then, slowly, he wriggled an arm free of the hug to pat Hunk’s arm. “There, there?” He ventured.

Hunk laughed, still sniffling. “You’re, like, really bad at this, man.” They loosened the hug, if only so that Keith wasn’t being crushed. “But I mean it when I say thanks because it means a lot, and I’m sorry to get all emotional on you, but it’s a thing that happens when you’re family.”

Oh. That was… Oh.

“Uh… Thanks. Thanks, Hunk.”

“No problem.” Hunk released him and gave him a final pat on the back before starting to wip at their face. “Is it okay if we start on the engineering lessons tomorrow? I’m kind of wiped today.”

Keith screwed up his face before remembering what they meant. “Oh. Oh, yeah, sure. Sure thing.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Hunk said, returning to their work, which Keith took as his cue to leave.

“Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like twice the length of each of the other two but I refuse to apologise. hunk is good and i love them


End file.
